Salute!
by Shrimp Chip
Summary: Allen thought he was too young to be drafted into the war, but apparently that didn't matter much. AU
1. Greetings From Your Little Soldier!

Allen thought he was too young to be drafted into the war, but apparently that didn't matter much. Actually, technically, he wasn't the one being drafted. His uncle was. But somehow, he had the suit on, and he was in line to register his name. Technically though, his name wasn't the one being registered. As of that day, Allen Walker was not Allen Walker. As of that day, Allen Walker was Marian Cross.

"Next." A deep, manly-man voice called slowly.

Allen / Marian slowly and reluctantly made his way to the registration booth. Winding his way through the dark mahogany working desks, with their assortment of pretty long legged secretaries type type typing away at their type writers, Allen plopped down in front of a rather fat, rather mustached old man holding a stack of papers in his sausage fingers.

He looked to Allen / Marian with beady blue eyes. "Marian Cross, correct?"

Allen blinked, paused, and pumped out an intelligent answer. "Um… Yes, sir?"

The man raised an eyebrow, "These documents here say that you're an American. You don't sound American to me, boy."

Allen smiled disarmingly, starting to get a hang of this pretending stuff (Because if he didn't he would face the wrath of family abuse. Which was not a good thing, nor has it ever been). "Lies." He countered easily, "They must have recorded incorrectly."

The man frowned deeply, "They also say you're thirty five. You sure as hell don't look thirty five to me, boy."

"Well these American secretaries are just barrels of laughs, huh?"

"It says your name is Marian." He frowned some more. "You look like a Marian."

Allen suppressed the tears that threatened to escape. He would not say anything unless asked (Because that's what his Uncle told him to do, and if he didn't follow, family abuse was sure to follow. Which, may I repeat, was not a good thing, nor has it ever been.) He just sat there with a strained smile on his face, with mental images of choking a certain red haired man by dumping the whole carton of cigarettes down his throat.

"Marian…" the man mumbled, scribbling things onto Allen's / Marian's documents, "What kind of name is Marian…" he continued, before taking a big, wooden stamp, and pounding it onto his papers. He handed it to Allen / Marian with a testosterone pumped flourish, and hailed over the next chum in line.

Allen balked. "You mean. I'm in … ?" he asked with amazement, "You're letting me join the navy?"

The working-man looked at him with disgust, "Of course you're in, dumbass. I stamped your girly-ass papers. Now out of the way, I got a new guy needing my attention."

Allen nodded, still in slight shock, before somehow making it out of the door.

Contemplation for the day ;; Were _all_ Americans idiots?

* * *

Ann made me do it. The idea was mine, but Ann made me do it. It is so short, but Ann made me do it. It shall eventually get to the Poker Pair-ness, but Ann made me do it.

Oh, by the way, it takes place in WWII. Just to let you know. And Ann made me do it.

Direct your anger and outrage towards Ann. Spare me in these reviews.


	2. Contiuned

Allen was sitting on the side of his itchy, yucky cot, attempting not to cry. He had made it onto the ship alright, and things seemed to be going well. But, well, things are never as they seem at first, and now Allen / Marian could officially call this the worst day of life. Forever. _Because it was just that bad._

--

Allen was shouldering his much too large for him carpenter bag, whistling show tune's softly to himself. He had on his nice new uniform (which his Uncle Cross had told him made him look as if he was a part of a faggy strip show, but that didn't get him down!), and was, surprisingly, smiling to himself. At first this predicament had seemed like a curse, but then, then, Allen had realized the benefits of this send-off! He would be away from Cross for a whole year! He didn't have to pay off his debts, he didn't have to buy his booze, and he didn't even have to be in the same room as him!

A soft sigh escaped his lips, as his hands trailed over the steel railings of the ship. Because of the sheer amount of bliss that was held inside him, Allen felt the need to close his eyes as he sighed / turned a corner. And because of this, he did not see the man that was also rounding the corner. And because of this, he abruptly ran into him.

"God damn it, shit!" the other man yelled, sprawled on the ground as he clutched his face. The man grabbed onto the railing, and pulled himself up. All this time, Allen / Marian had been repeating phrases that all meant, 'thank you', over and over again, flailing his arms around as if the swirly random movements could help the situation (it wasn't, by the way), and all in all, going completely berserk.

"Fuck, _fuck_. Calm down, bitch. You're starting to annoy me, damn it." And with that, the man pulled away the hand from his face. What was revealed was very Asian, and in Allen / Marian's case, very scary face.

Now, when growing up with Marian Cross for a guardian, there are a few things you learn. One: Nothing is illegal if no one sees it. Two: If it isn't done as quickly as possible, your ass will be beat. And, Three: If you don't get the Jap's before they get you, the world will end in one fiery, apocalyptic blast.

If Allen's expression was a crayola crayon, it would most certainly be called 'Color Me Shocked'.

"J-J-J-J-_Japanese_?"

The foreign man's eyes narrowed, "Yes, you fucking moron. Now out of my way, you're making me late…"

His narrow escape was immediately blocked by a thin, wiry arm. Though Allen / Marian was indeed scared shitless, that wouldn't stop him from risking his life to save the ship. The lives of hundreds of men were resting on his shoulders. _His_, and no others.

"Prisoner of war! The prisoner has escaped!"

--

To be continued . . .

* * *

I always thought Allen was secretly racist.


End file.
